5 minute five hundred pound appraisal, and the Sunday back up Ronda rewrites.

 

23.10.24 Ronda shadows.

I cannot say it yet, the heart wont form, and hurt wont yield, so it sits above it's self; caged and molten in the free forming waves that crash the ancient parapets. The ledge, where we dare not speak, or walk beyond the skin. Those small tactile points, the hurts of wars, that suffer in the silence of  retreating; and  faded smiles, walled up within them selves. A bluff hold of memory, high above a lime stone head, looking out to the ancient plain, where warrior armies gather in the deep below, arms drawn, knives ready. Blood-shed. MB

High above the plains of Ronda 27.10.24

She's alone, pointed straight ahead; on the edge, above the plain. The morning light, forms low. The wind a whining screech around her. She braces into it.But In reality she sees nothing, for the time for that has past, even with the long hard pull of focused sight. So instead she bores into the wide expanse, a broken semi circle of greys, things that have been rendered out of rock and mess.,and all the other things drawn tight. Old things that have given them themselves up like exposed bones, drawn up from the very beginning of the earth. A tight snap that has ridden it'self gaunt, saddle -tore, waiting within the hard terrain, against the dust that has marked it's self out upon her with smudged-out long-suffering bruises; Waiting in both the within and the without- in pain of silence, for some sign or message from beyond the edge, a true acknowledgement of what has been, in a false that  has both been tried and let in. This is the breaching of a boundary, this is the marking of a skin. MB

Ronda pages 30.10.24

I

We are not okay..

The quiet closed in of the dangling deep, I thought you'd meet me there, push through the pain.

So, I will not pretend, and you will not partake, if I am forced to do the same- as if nothing ever happened, as if nothing ever changed, and so the scream takes shape.

II

Smile sweetly Richard/I do not need to stay

How easily you stood behind that smile. Taking everyone with you, with the last remnants- a solid fake. But I will speak, in honor of the flame. No swallow, only spit. One must get it out, the harm that is, or else lay the ground to waste; and render all future fruits infertile, poison from the muted tree. Because what falls down must crumble in the “was never real” like gaudy and exotic paste.

II

It's all about the exits

I wont be complicit in your pretend, your glide above the happenings, your flight from depth. Know this: I would have worked with you; at the bottom; in the deeply- but like an exotic bird you took fright. Leaving only the poisoned gentlys, of a man I met but never knew. So here we are: ;I will not dissimulate, nor split to keep the peace. If you will not do the work, then I cannot do you.

IV

Observe my whatsapp boundaries

There is no other choice. He left no other way.I will not wear his phony. I will not do his fake. No slick-news smiles, or massaged halos of facade, on this relationship trip. Its either the deep gorges of the showing up; root cause ownership if you must, or naught. So kindly, and politely and I say this with the deepest respect and love:Level up and meet me, or gently, kindly, sincerely do me the honour of fucking off. MB